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The Unreal Reality

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The plain beige walls betrayed everything about the house, for it was not warm and welcoming, but rather a dark and dank place where any sign of belonging and the slightest suggestion of happiness was immediately squashed without hesitation. The carpet was brown and long like a large Canadian Newfoundland was draped throughout the spacious room. It squished around underneath my bare feet and tickled between my toes. Everything about this house invited you in only to shove you away never to hold you in its arms, like a mother rejecting her own blood.

I take a deep breathe through my nose and cinnamon envelopes me in its warm arms. The scent caresses my body and swirls through my brain, leaving sick images of what could have been like an angry wound. The dark haired man with the chestnut brown eyes, cuddling with his child sends shivers up my spine. I feel like my stomach is going to empty. I can taste the bile rising in the back of my throat and I choke it down, avoiding eye contact with the light haired women. They sit together, the woman, the man, the child, on the couch resting in between its soft and luxurious arms. Me, sitting only a few feet away, feel distant from them. I feel, though I can reach out my arm and physically grasp them, like they are unreal. The scene laying before me is surreal and in the distance I can hear my blood pulsing throughout my ears. My stomach feels like a stone cold fist is squeezing it in its grasp.

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away from the disgusting scene displayed before me. I can hear, through my acute ears, the soft whisperings sailing through the air, excluding me. It was a small, but reassuring sign, the exculsion. The steady stream of sunlight let in through the window falls on the floor, only to be stomped on, like my self confidence. This house betrays every emotion, magnifying it for all to behold, like being examined under the microscope. The walls start closing in and I catch my breathe. This house has a family and I wasn’t apart of it. I hate it here, in this surreal world where my father dwells.





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emolover95 said...
Aug. 3, 2011 at 8:38 pm
This is a beautiful work of art. Why aren't you famous yet?! You are such a hard worker and what you create when you feel the worst is awesome! Keep writing and keep me posted. You are fantabulous! May the Force be with you.
 
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